Slow to Trust
by Dobby's Socks
Summary: A quiet war is waged between the Doctor's newest friend and oldest companion. See what lengths they go to battle it out, and just how long our favorite Time Lord can remain oblivious to it all. Will reference most episodes from Season Seven, so spoilers!
1. Chapter 1

**So this whole TARDIS-not-liking-Clara thing has had me interested since "The Rings of Akhaten", but I feel like I'm finally ready to actually write for Clara now. Exciting prospect, that. So without further ado, enjoy!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter One**

He doesn't say anything about it, but he starts leaving the door unlocked whenever they go out. It doesn't make the slightest difference. Even if Clara's just nipping back in for a jacket because he's neglected to mention it's absolutely freezing out, the doors won't budge. Unless of course she's retrieving something he's requested; then they practically fly open under her touch since it's _for him_, she's realized.

"Your ship doesn't like me," she insists as he fiddles with the controls.

The Doctor looks at her, a bemused quirk to his lips. "Don't be ridiculous, Clara. The TARDIS—"

"Is a cat, I know," she finishes for him. "But if she's a cat, she's _your_ cat."

"Well, yes," he nods and stops pressing buttons, turning around to lean on the console and study her. "I own her. I suppose she is my cat." He pats the console fondly, then lifts his gaze back to her. "So why would does that mean she doesn't like you?"

"I don't know," she returns. How can he expect her to figure it out when he's the thousand year-old alien? "Some cats just don't like people."

"Oh, come now, Clara, no need to insult her intelligence," he chides, and she rolls her eyes. "Actually, from her point of view, you humans are the cats."

"_We_ are?" She echoes indignantly.

"Sure! Little tiny human living linearly until—bam!" She's ashamed to admit she jumps, and he gets that giddy grin on his face again. "All of time and space at your fingertips, something that you can't even comprehend, but she lives and breathes it." He's positively beaming with this knowledge, and she finds it hard not to grin back just a little. "So really, to her, you're like…strays."

"Strays," she repeats flatly, too stunned to even muster the proper outrage.

"Her word choice, not mine."

"Her word—never mind. But, I can't be the stray of a cat," she reasons quite brilliantly, smug as he pouts. "So then, what does that really make me?"

"To whom?" He asks clearly getting more than a bit frustrated at her word game.

"The TARDIS, of course."

"I don't know," he waves a hand in the air as if he's dismissing the subject altogether, adding, "a- a dog." She gapes at him and he pauses in his movement, swallowing somewhat nervously. "Cl—Clara?"

Abruptly, she spins on her heels and walks around the console, away from him.

"Clara!" He scrambles to follow her, trotting along beside her in an ironic twist as she circles, trying to get her to look at him. " Clara, please, what did I do wrong? Come on, at least a hint! Whatever it is, I'm sorry!"

She marches up three steps before whirling to face him, so that she can have the height advantage for once. "'Whatever it is'? You called me a dog!"

"No I—I mean, not me!" She crosses her arms and he runs a hand through his hair, causing the bangs to flop down over his forehead. "You asked me how the TARDIS sees you, and since you're determined she doesn't like you, I went with the logical response."

"Which was a dog because?" She prompts, still feeling incredibly affronted.

"Because the TARDIS is a cat—is_ like_ a cat."

"Yes, but I'm not your dog!"

He opens and shuts his mouth, eyes comically wide. Now he gets it. "No," he agrees in a softer, humbler tone. "No, you're not. Beginning to see how that was misconstrued, though." She merely nods once, and his nervousness almost turns to anxiety on the spot. "I am very sorry. Would you possibly consider forgiving me?"

It's almost impossible to leave him hanging for too long. So she smiles and hops off the stairs to join him again and his splits into a smile of his own. Satisfied the crisis has been averted, he returns to the control panel, and her grin fades. "What am I, then, to you? Just a mystery?"

"No," he disagrees, shaking his head before turning one more time to look her in the eye. "You are Clara Oswald. And that's far more than most people, eh?"

She can't think of what to say, both pleased and embarrassed at his words. A genius alien alive for centuries? He can't truly find her this fascinating.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not so high on the totem pole," he comments, glancing back at her once over his shoulder, in total lecture mode. "People and their pets—it's a symbiosis more than anything. I mean, the cats are really the ones in charge—have I taken you to New Earth?"

She shakes her head, amused as ever by his ramblings, and settles in on the steps to watch as he pilots them to their next destination. The likelihood that it will be New Earth, of course, is just as great as their finally turning up in Las Vegas.

As the familiar shaking and wheezing starts, she winds her arms tightly around a railing to keep upright, which naturally begins to rattle around in her hold as if it's loose.

So that's how it's going to be?

Feeling more than a bit ridiculous, Clara Oswald growls under her breath, just to let the TARDIS know she's onto her. The response is a low hiss from the Time Rotor, which the Doctor is at a loss to explain, so he fusses over it the entirety of their next trip, leaving her to explore Paris by herself.

Oh, that ship was good.

**Ok, so this is really just a mini-series, some drably one-shots that pop into my head. Shouldn't be too many of these, but we'll see. I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading and please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok, so I already had part of this one written, so that explains the fast turnaround. I was also inspired by the reviews you guys left me, I'm glad that you are amused by idea. Not going to lie, I'm really looking forward to next week's episode. A whole episode about Clara stuck in the TARDIS who doesn't like her? Should be interesting. Anyway, here's the next chapter!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Two**

There is, in fact, an umbrella stand. Or rather, there is for him.

It's practically pouring, and she laughs as he leads them back through slippery grass in the dark. He's looped her arm in his and holds the umbrella over them, quite unsuccessfully due to his clumsy nature so that they're drenched by the time they're to the ship. He holds the door for her and she happily skips inside to the dry warmth of the console room.

She hears him enter after her, but what makes her freeze is the muted thud of someone dropping something into a container. Clara turns around to see the umbrella sitting innocently in an umbrella stand placed right next to the door.

"What is that?" She asks before he even has the chance to get around her and to the controls. The Doctor blinks and his shoes squeak as he twists to see what she's pointing at. He glances back at her uncertainly and points too, as if to check.

"That?" She merely nods, and he looks even more confused, if slightly worried. "That, er, Clara, is an umbrella stand. It was invented—on Earth—in the—"

"I know that," she snaps, not in the mood for one of his rambling speeches about history. 'I meant what is it doing there?"

"It appears to be holding the umbrella."

"Oi, no need to be smart," she swats him lightly on the arm, causing him to chuckle, the ridiculous man. "Did you put this here?" It's the most logical assumption she can make.

Yet he confounds her by shaking his head. "No it's always been there."

"No it hasn't," she disagrees immediately, and his lips pull into a frown.

"Of course it has; the TARDIS doesn't like getting wet any more than we do."

"Well then why did she allow me to get her 'soaked' as you put it that last time?" She places one hand to her hip as he fumbles a bit, spinning around himself to look at her then the console then the umbrella stand, twirling back the other way as if to make absolutely certain.

"But it's always been there!" He exclaims, and is met with her frustrated groan. "It has! What sort of ship would this be without an umbrella stand anyway? You must not have been looking enough.

Her jaw drops and she lets a single disbelieving laugh escape. "_I_ must not have? If you remember as I do, Doctor, you looked yourself and couldn't find it. Said you were going mad," she adds, wondering not for the first time if that's the single most honest thing he's said to her.

"Maybe I did, but it's back now. You didn't put it there and I didn't put it there, so it must have always been there—unless I'm going mad, but you can't go mad twice, Clara."

"Pretty sure you defy that rule, actually," she quips and he smirks.

"Probably. But, that still doesn't solve this little conundrum of yours, does it?" He cups his incredibly large chin in his hand, obviously thinking about it. As much as she's glad he's putting some effort behind this one, she's already got a theory of her own. She's not sure if he'll like it, though.

"Doctor?"

"Hm?"

"Is it possible that the TARDIS might have put it there?"

He looks at her strangely. "Well of course she put it there, she puts everything everywhere."

"I'm sorry?" She blinks, not sure if it's shock or fear that causes her voice to rise an octave.

He gives a somewhat exasperated huff, but is mostly amused as he takes her by the hand, leading her up to the console. "Clara, everything you see here and beyond: the corridors, the wardrobe, the- the kitchen—was made by the TARDIS. She furnishes each room based upon the needs of the user. Thus," he gestures back behind them, "umbrella stand by the door."

She turns her head to look and her eyes narrow in suspicion. "Then I think I know what happened; she took it away when I needed it."

"Oh, will you stop this silly—"

"It isn't silly, it's true! I'll prove it," she declares, marching to the door and grabbing up the umbrella. Wrenching the door open, a spray of rainwater hits her before she can put the umbrella up, but she steps out determinedly. Of course, instead of making a dramatic reentrance, she has to rap on the blue wood impatiently until he starts out of his stunned stupor.

The Doctor steps to the side to allow her through, and she darts around him to find—nothing. "See?" She cries in triumph as he gapes.

"Where did it—?" Dumbfounded, he accepts the umbrella from her as she nods to herself, satisfied. At least until he says, "oh, wait, here it is."

"What?" She whirls back around, horrified to see the umbrella stand sitting right where it had been before she went back outside. "How—?"

"Well, I just was looking around and I glanced back and it was there," he seems just as puzzled as her until he shrugs. "Ah well, we must not have noticed it."

"We didn't notice it because it wasn't there!" She knows she's getting worked up by the way he's eyeing her warily, the umbrella still dripping in his hands—_his hands_. "She put it back because of you," she gasps in realization. "See, this ship really doesn't like me!"

"Clara, let's not be unreasonable—"

"I'm not- _achoo!_ -being unreasonable," she gives a little sneeze midsentence, not really thinking anything of it. Not until he dumps the umbrella and is suddenly standing before her with his hands on her shoulders.

"Oh, Clara, what was I thinking letting you stand around in those wet clothes. And arguing with you, too—stupid Doctor!" He scoops her up in his arms without a second thought, something she would normally protest, or at least tease him for.

But Clara lets him tend to her for the rest of the night, quite content with the knowledge that he's taking care of _her_ and not the old cow. And it she fakes a few extra sneezes or a cough, it isn't as if he needs to know.

**And here we have Clara sort of winning this one, even if the umbrella issue hasn't really been resolved. So yeah, not much else to say about it, thanks again for reading and please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Um…so I'm really super sorry for not updating anything in forever. But my laptop is dead and being fixed, and has a couple chapters for my other stories trapped on it. So my muse kind of cried, curled up, and died as well. But now I feel at least a little inspiration and an even smaller bit of time to type! I'll try and make it up to you all by writing "The Name of the Doctor" themed oneshots in the near-future, but for now this chapter takes place shortly after "Journey to the Center of the TARDIS". Thanks for being so patient, and enjoy!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Three**

She thinks she might be winning; it's been weeks and the TARDIS doesn't do anything out of the ordinary, which isn't necessarily great, but it's still something. And she thinks, too, that she might be making progress with him. The Doctor.

Sure, he's always liked her, but more in an _I'm intrigued by you, Clara Oswald_ way rather than _my friend, Clara_. She doesn't know why. He's a thousand year-old alien with two hearts and a spaceship—what's even remotely interesting about her?

But when he asked if she felt safe she saw, more than ever before, the absolute concern in his eyes. So she decides she can safely tell herself he cares about her, for whatever reason. It's a comforting thought, one she can use as a talisman against the old cow, especially when she's wandering the maze of it by herself.

"I do feel quite comfortable here, if you were wondering," Clara says aloud to the ship, doing her best to ignore the fact that she's talking to thin air. "Even if you hate me."

The TARDIS doesn't bother to respond and she feels a little awkward standing in this empty, silent hall, so she tries the nearest door. It's locked.

"Of course," she grumbles under her breath, raising her voice to call, "Doctor?"

He's with her in moments, and she wonders for the umpteenth time just how he manages to dash about and slide on his heels to whatever destination. "Something the matter?" He questions, eyes darting about already to locate the problem.

"Yes. Your ship is now locking _all_ it's doors on me," she accuses, hands planted on her hips.

He looks perplexed and shakes his head. "Nah, she wouldn't do that."

"Well she locked this one," she counters, nodding to the door in question.

It's very brief, but a look of recognition and just the slightest hint of guilt pass over his face. "Oh, well, ehm, I asked her to lock this one."

Clara feels her eyebrows raise of their own accord. "Oh? Why? What's behind there?"

"Nothing, just the library," the Time Lord dismisses a little too quickly. "It's big, easy to get lost in, thought it'd be best if you didn't—I don't even know why I have a library, I hate libraries!"

"Really?" She asks, feeling a bit lost with this sudden tirade. He's always been big on acquiring knowledge, and she can just picture him ensconced in an armchair reading by the fire. Then again, appearances can be deceiving, his monk attire when they first met being a prime example.

"Yes," he decides vehemently, spinning away from the door to march back up the corridor. "Anyway, we've landed."

"We have? I didn't even feel it shake."

"She's had a rough day; I used the boringers," he replies, not even casting a glance back at her over his shoulder, as if that explains everything.

"The what?" She watches as he freezes literally in mid-step, and she has a feeling whatever expression is on the Doctor's face isn't a good one.

"Sorry," he mutters after a moment, "stabilizers, the blue stabilizers. They make it…not-shakey." And just like that he takes up his brisk pace again down the corridor.

Her eyes widen and she hurries to catch up with him. "Are you telling me the only reason we're bounced around like rag dolls inside your ship is because flying normally would be too _boring_ for you?"

"Yes," he answers simply before his eyes flicker down to her face warily. "Is that a problem?"

She shakes her head, laughing a little. "Not really. I'm just happy it wasn't me making it do that. Now I know it's your fault."

"Hey, no fault," he retorts, nudging her as they enter the console room. "My TARDIS, I can fly her how I like."

"How about how I like?" She inquires, and that brings him to a stop once again. He's on the bottom stair and turns back to look at her inquisitively. "You were going on about lessons earlier."

The Doctor blanches. "Oh, er, maybe not just yet, Clara. After all, flying a TARDIS requires a certain level of trust, respect."

"I guess that rules me out," she remarks with just a touch of bitterness, walking past him to the door. If this ship really doesn't hate humans as the Time Lord claims, why has it chosen to single her out?

"There's no need to be upset," he rushes to her side, desperate not to let her leave in this unhappy state. "It's also very complicated; few can ever learn to really fly one anymore."

"So just you, then?" Clara jokes, managing a smile. As usual, the ego-boost does not go missed by him, and the Doctor straightens his bowtie, standing at his full height.

"Well, I wouldn't say," is his meager attempt at modesty. "I mean, Professor Song could—" his eyes go almost comically wide, but his expression of near-horror stops any of her laughter from bubbling to the surface.

"Doctor?" She asks softly, growing more worried as he does not immediately respond, but then he blinks, locks eyes with her before glancing away just as quickly, and then gives a tiny shake of his head as if to clear it.

"Nothing, nothing, it's—nothing." She prepares to voice her doubt in that, but he points a warning finger at her. "Mind you, I never said that. If anyone asks—oh, I'll never hear the end of this one." He seems to have recovered slightly from whatever dark place his mind had gone, for it's more of a whine than a cry. So she feels safe pressing him just a little.

"Professor Song a friend of yours? It's funny, cause I think that's the first name you've mentioned that isn't a famous person from history or some space emperor or something."

He barks out a laugh, sounding grateful for the teasing tone she's taken. "Professor Song _should_ be a famous person. Quite well known in several galaxies, actually."

"Several galaxies?" She echoes in some surprise, wondering just who this professor friend of his is.

"Yes, but enough about that Clara." The alien waves off her protests and she soon realizes that this bit of conversation is over—at least for now. "The TARDIS has been sitting around the corner from your house for some time, and I think your neighbors might be starting to notice."

"What?" She runs to the door and pokes her head out. Sure enough, a couple people are peeking from behind curtains at the strange blue box. "You couldn't have landed somewhere less open?" Clara's not sure if she's groaning at him or the ship.

"Well, Angie and Artie are waiting," he deflects with a nervous smile, gesturing to the door.

"Thanks," she replies with a wry smirk. "Wednesday?"

"Wednesday," he confirms, so she turns away and exits, making her way as calmly and quietly as possible to the house, aware of the neighbors' eyes on her. It's when she's just turned the corner that she hears him. "Clara!"

He's running right after her and draws up when he's reached her, seeming almost breathless despite the short distance.

"Well?" She prompts, uncertain as to what's caused him to chase her.

"You know that everything I do—all the locked doors, the conversations never finished, the secrets—it's to keep you safe. It's not because I don't trust you, or- or—"

"Doctor," she interrupts, "I get it. You don't have to tell me everything." He tries to speak again, so she just puts a finger to his lips. "And I feel safe."

When she pulls her hand away, he's smiling warmly. "Clara Oswald," is all he says, one hand coming to the back of her head as he leans down and just brushes her forehead with his lips. Such a strange gesture that might have received a slap from her in any other situation. But somehow, that's just ok, it's him, and she's not sure when the last time was that she felt this valued and cared for.

He's smiling at her again and she can't seem to get the little grin off her own face. So she takes a step back. "Ok. Wednesday."

"Wednesday."

Clara walks away then, because it's either that or jumping back in the box for more adventures with this wonderful friend. It's more than a little tempting.

But there's also her real life responsibilities, which come crashing back onto her in the form of Artie and Angie bursting out on to the front lawn.

"Artie says he saw you with your boyfriend," Angie informs her haughtily.

"I don't have a boyfriend," is he puzzled response.

"But he kissed you!" The boy argues, and she flushes with the realization that her charges must have seen her with the Doctor, and just how that could have looked to anyone that was not them.

"So he _is_ your boyfriend," Angie decides with smirk.

Distantly, she hears the wheezing of the TARDIS leaving accompanied by a low, warning rumble.

It's all in good fun, isn't it?

"Well…" she hedges in just that way that will make Angie and Artie—and the cow—assume all sorts of things.

The retribution, whatever it is, will so be worth it.

**Alright, so I hope that that was a good mix of amusing and even just a hint of sad for you all. I plan to have more updates, and not just for this story, up in the near future. The season finale has me itching to write again, it was so good! Let me know what your favorite part was, and what you thought of this chapter! Thanks for reading, and please review!**


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